


Bread and Butter

by alisonchains



Category: Soundgarden (Band)
Genre: Affairs, Erotica, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Food Porn, Mistress, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 12:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18410360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alisonchains/pseuds/alisonchains
Summary: One shot I wrote a few weeks ago in about an hour, because there are simply not enough Ben fics in the world. Told from the point of view of a stripper, and I will let the text do the talking xo





	Bread and Butter

I stepped out onto the stage to dance for everyone in the room. I let them all stare at my breasts, the nipples from beneath the small triangles covering me up, and then I put it back on to do the dance. Bend over. Shake that ass as “Erotica” by Madonna blared out over the speakers. Play with the lace trimmings lining my hips. Should I lose weight or should I keep going and prove that dancers can carry a little extra weight and be sexy?  
He caught my eye, there in the far corner of the room, with his thick, disheveled bush of dark hair fanning out from his head, Irish nose, bow shaped mouth over a cleft chin, and intense gaze that seemed to sear right through my soul. He wore a heavy denim jacket over a black shirt and black jeans; from a distance, I could see the scuffed up black boots on his feet and the faint glimmer of a wedding band on his left hand.  
What was he doing here? Trouble at home, maybe? The look on his face was one of interest but also one of boredom, so who knows. All I knew was I would have to dance for him once the opportunity arose, and that opportunity was that moment. When my time was up there on the stage, I strode off the left hand side to slip on my silk robe before walking towards him, still in my high heels. He watched me walk towards him with a bemused look on his face. I flashed him a smile.  
“Hey, babe,” I greeted him.  
“Hi,” he answered in a low, gruff voice.  
“Is everything alright? I've never seen you in here before.”  
“I just needed to get out for a bit. That, and there's nothing to eat back home, either.”  
“When I’m not out dancing, I like to go home and cook myself a nice warm dinner.”  
“That’s real kind of you but--” he pointed at his left hand. “--I’m kinda married.”  
“That’s okay. There’s a kitchen here--I’ll see if I can get them to make you a little sump’n.”  
He fluttered his eyelashes at me before knitting his eyebrows together. He then ran his fingers through his hair to show me his narrow oval of a face. He looked like he needed to eat.  
“Sounds good. But I wanna oversee it, though.”  
I gestured for him to follow me, and he climbed to his feet and towered over me. I was going to have fun that night whether he liked it or not.  
I led him into the kitchen, the next room over from the main room, where two cooks were busy cleaning up before the next big round of orders. He lingered behind me at the door and I poked my head into the room. The one on the right grinned at me.  
“Hey! what’re you doing in here?”  
“This fellow right here right next to me would like a little something refreshing,” I told him.  
“Okay--what would he like?”  
I turned to him. “What would you like?”  
“Uh, what do you guys recommend?”  
“Let’s see, being it’s Sunday--we’ve got a basil meatloaf on special tonight.”  
“Sounds good by me!”  
“Alright--this’ll take probably ten minutes.”  
I kept close to him there at the door as we watched the one on the right chop up the ground beef on the clean white cutting board closest to us; my boy huddled closer to me. I wondered since he was so tall, he had to have a good length under his belt. I was eager to have him right here I wanted him as the one on the left set the timer on the oven and the one on the right poured the meat and spices, one of which I could see was black pepper, into a tin lined with ketchup for baking.  
Soon, the one on the left chopped up fresh basil to top the loaf once it came out of the oven.  
He glanced down at me at one point and I opened my robe a bit to show him a bit more of my chest, even though I had beheld most, if not all, of my body earlier. He nibbled on his bottom lip at me.  
Now he was going to have fresh meat loaf made just for him.  
The timer went off and the one on the right took it out of the oven, and set it on the overhead shelf to cool for a minute. My boy shifted his weight; I opened my robe just a bit more so to show him more of my skin. I thought of suggesting a dinner roll with a bit of butter to go to straight his waist, but at that point, the meatloaf was being cut and sliced into slender medallions and then topped with the basil.  
The one on the right handed my boy a clean white plate with four medallions and a fork with a smile. Once he handed them eight dollars, we thanked them both before heading back out to the main room, where we could see that all the seats had been taken.  
“Shit,” he muttered.  
“What do you wanna do?” I asked him. He paused and then cleared his throat.  
“Let’s go outside.”  
He led me out the front door to the cool, crisp night and the golden light from the streetlight to our left. Two low buildings across the pavement from us caught my eye; the one on the right had a golden yellow light next to the doorway. He saw them, too.  
“There’s a music shop and a recording studio across the street here,” he said, pointing and guiding me across the street.  
“Ah, you wanna make some beautiful music while you have your late night snack?” I cracked as we ambled over the pavement: the bottoms of my heels clanked and made a low echo all the way across.  
“Funny you say that,” he started as he reached the sidewalk and the small black metal table with a pair of rickety chairs, “‘cause I so happen to make beautiful music for a living.”  
“Really?” I asked as I took a seat. “What instrument you play?”  
“Bass. I actually started out playing guitar first until I got good and then I turned to bass to try out for my favorite band.”  
“That’s fantastic! Well, here--have a seat.” I gestured for him to sit down across from me. In the low amber light, I watched him slice the meat with the side of his fork, and eat up every last bite. At one point, I leaned over the table to gaze into his eyes.  
“So, how’s the food?”  
“Damn good,” he answered after swallowing and sighing through his nose. “These medallions are kind of big, but I think I can handle it.”  
I showed him a smile. “That’s good.”  
Soon I realized the cooks in there had given him more than four medallions, and there were two small ones right in the center. But he was more than willing to eat all of it and not let a single bite go to waste. By the time his plate was clean, he leaned back in his chair and set down his fork.  
“Oh. Woof.”  
“Full?”  
“I guess you’d say so. I overdid it.”  
“They gave you a lot, too.” I climbed to my feet and rounded the table to meet up with him. I stooped down to get face to face with him: I stroked the edge of his jaw and then the little cleft in his chin. He closed his eyes and rested his hands on his svelte slim stomach; I brought my hand to the left side of his face and turned his head so as to kiss him. His eyes burst open and he tore away from me.  
“What are you doing?” he demanded in a hushed voice. I clasped my hand to his throat.  
“I want you,” I begged. “I want you so bad.”  
“Please--” he pleaded. “Please--I’m married and I don’t even know your name!”  
“Come on, honey. I want you. And I know you want me. Come on, you big--sehr sexy junge.”  
He licked his lips as I brought my face closer to his: his breath smelled of black pepper and basil. Perfect. Using my other hand, I reached down for the crotch of his jeans and squeezed.  
“Oh--”  
“Ich liebe deine Weichheit,” I whispered into his face as I moved my hand up to stroke his belly underneath his shirt. He stared on at me, and his intense gaze waned and softened. I peeled off his jacket and lay it on the table next to us; I then peeled off his shirt to expose the top half of his slender body. He was giving himself to me, even just by the caress of my fingers.  
“Oh, I see.”  
“Yes.” I let my tongue slither out of my mouth as I hovered even closer to his face. “Do your worst, big boy.”  
“Do my worst?”  
His fingers crept up to the collar of my robe and he peeled it off to show off my shoulders and my chest. I let go of his shirt so he could take my robe off all the way. I was exposed, still in the skimpy bikini, but I was exposed to the street outside. There was nothing more than the amber light washing over us but it was enough to see what were doing.  
He peeled off the top and pressed his lips to my chest: the tips of his shaggy hair brushed against my chest. The feel of it was enough to send shivers down my spine and right to my vagina; the feeling only picked up as he kissed the side of my breast and the edge of my nipple which pointed out from the cool air around us. I dropped my hands to his belly again, so slender and yet so soft to the touch. I could feel his waist thickening, even just from that one plate. I stroked him several times before he lay his head against my chest for a moment. He then lifted his head to gaze at me with his lips parted.  
I opened my mouth and shoved my tongue into his to feel him on the inside. His fingers crept onto my hips and sank into my love handles. I sat down in his lap to get closer to him; I felt his fingers run through my hair.  
“Get down,” he croaked out.  
“On the ground?”  
“Yes.”  
I clambered off of his lap and knelt down on the sidewalk so he could unbuckle his belt, unfasten his jeans, and then strip off his underwear, all while sitting down. He was indeed very big.  
Long, about as long as a ripe English cucumber.  
Smooth as a dollop olive oil.  
And with a nice pointed tip like a sprout of asparagus.  
So big, but I knew what he wanted. I lunged right in between his legs with my mouth open. I suckled on him to where I felt the tip reach the very back of my mouth. I nearly gagged, but I managed to hold onto him. I ran my tongue over his skin. His chest began to heave as I kept suckling and licking him.  
I heard him groan inside of his throat. I peered up at his gritted teeth and his face twisted into the most euphoric grin I had ever seen on a man, and I had seen many pleased men.  
I let go of him and then turned my head to spit onto the sidewalk. I scrambled back up to his face again and that was when he held onto my throat as if he was about asphyxiate me.  
“Come here--” he grunted out, pushing me onto my back on top of his jacket and shirt. “--come--”  
Never letting me go, he used his free arm to set the plate down on the seat of the chair before reaching down for his belt dangling down under his knees.  
He took his belt and wrapped it around my wrists with that same hand. Once I was partially hog tied, he rolled me over onto my stomach. He gave me a light spank on both of my butt cheeks.  
“You’ve got nowhere to go now,” he growled through gritted teeth as he gripped onto my hips. I felt him thrusting. That hard flesh piercing hard into my vagina and also into my ass. Thrust after thrust after thrust. Each time harder and harder than the last. My heart hammered in my chest.  
”Yes--” I sputtered.  
”That’s it--” he grunted.  
”Yes!” I cried out.  
”All of it, baby,” he blurted out. “All of it, yes! All of it!”  
There was something about him, something about each of these thrusts and the belt wrapped around my wrists that no man before him could prove for me.  
I panted from my pounding heartbeat. He moaned, gasped, and huffed and puffed with each gyration. Once a long low groan escaped from his mouth, he stopped but still kept the side of his shaft pressed against my butt.  
I turned my head to see him leaning over my back with beads of sweat running down his cheek and along the bridge of his nose.  
He then stood upright to let me off the table and to undo the belt around my wrists. He clasped a hand to his stomach and I knew he needed a little belly rub.  
I sat upright on the edge of the table and then leaned forward to kiss the skin next to his belly button. I caressed the slight curvature on his waist.  
“Wanna do butterfly next?” I asked him.  
“Yeah. Let’s do it once you’re done here. I don’t have to roll you over again.”  
“I didn't catch your name, baby,” I told him as I rubbed his belly a bit more and then lay down flat on my back on his clothes again.  
“I'm Ben,” he replied in a broken voice, “and I’m going to tip you so well after we’re done here, baby girl. My wife need not know.”  
And with that, he reached down for my legs and lifted my feet onto his chest so he thrust forward again. I thought of spanking him for being such a bad boy, but his wife need not know about us.


End file.
